I fucked a famous TV personality once
It was a bit weird though.

Sort of a threesome, really.

I remember Rod Hull stroking Emu's head and saying: "Take it you little bitch."

While I stood behind and pummelled away at the bird. Emu didn't seem to mind. He couldn't see alot though, what with the gimp mask. And he was strapped down.

Felt good. Felt great infact.

And it was lovely that Rod was there to give us both a hand...
( SpankyHanky, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 10:33, 1 reply)

(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 10:28, 2 replies)

Personal Jesus
Hey finally! I have a story to tell!

This happened in February. I'm still not over it.

You know Hot Wheels, yeah? Little toy cars, fun to BBQ and generally torture. I'm not sure if you realize that there's men out there who meticulously collect the little things, line up when cases are newly opened at the local Wal-Mart, and generally get over-zealous about a kid's plaything. They will pay seveal hundred for a single customized piece.

My boss founded a little company that strips the paint off existing Hot Wheels, has them retampoed and repainted in China, and sells them for around £18. We sell out every damn month. About half of the collectors out there have purchased from our little company at least once.

At one of the conventions in Las Vegas, crazy fanboys of the toys are queued up, wanting the signature of one of the main Mattel designers, Larry Wood. I'm mucking about, trying to get our booth set up while fighting this mass of massive people. There's some buzz among the nearest gaggle of men about the new Diecast Hall of Fame inductions going on later that night, and I'm generally not paying attention.

The mention of my boss's name *does* catch my ear within the sentence, "Well, it's a good thing Ray Parker* isn't going to be inducted anytime soon!" I snap my head up to see the white-haired cunt that uttered the defamation is staring right at me, issuing the challenge.

Now, my boss can drive me batty at times, but I'm insanely loyal to the man. He is definitely my hero and is the closest thing to a dad that I'll ever have.

With the feeling of hot electricity in my blood, words just tumble out of my mouth. I don't remember hardly any of my banshee screams, but I know it was something about how Ray is the industry's finest business man to ever be born and this old todger should feel honored to be in the same building as him. I may have overdone it; all the old men standing around probably got the impression that Ray is my personal Jesus or someother.

The mass of people are silenced, awed by my sharp-tongued berating that has put this old guy in his place! Bathed in the warm glow of anger and vengenance, I start to realize that the look on the people's faces is more akin to horror. The target of my rage is looking down on me like I've just been caught with my hand in my panties in the confessional booth.

And then the other details start to fall into place. The people aren't really queued up any longer, the autograph session has ended. And that old guy wasn't looking at me when he'd slandered my boss, he was looking over my shoulder. At my boss. Who is apparently a good buddy of this old guy.

I turn to see that my boss is giving me the same sort of disapproving look. "Trillion, have you met Larry Wood?"

Why he didn't fire me for overzealously defending his honor by cursing out the convention celebrity really is beyond me. But I still get paychecks every other week.




*name changed, though he's far from innocent. I know more about this man's sex life than I do about my own! But he's a really private chap who doesn't like his name out there too much.
(TrillionGrams, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 9:27, Reply)

Shirley Manson
First time poster *Hi! Be gentle!*

I cannot remember the year, but my sister had just asked me to go down to London, Camden Town to be exact, to see a Garbage gig as her mate had dropped out at the last minute. I had obviously heard the music due to her blasting the albums every day so i was happy to tag along.
After the gig we decided it would be fun to gate hang. So we went outside to go round the back. We walked straight past the support acts on our way, they didnt look happy that no one was remotely intrested.

Got round the back and around 10 people there waiting for Shirley. Some of the band members came out. There was some confusion as they were telling us "Yes shes coming out soon". 10 minutes pass and we keep asking security. "Oh shes actually coming out the front entrance". We were a bit doubtful as we didnt want to miss her, so someone went round the front, ran back and screamed "Shes here!".
We all scramble to leg it round the front, and during this, my sister tripped on a kerb and fell over. She picked herself up and kept running, there was no way she was missing Shirley.

Around 20 of us gathered in a friendly circle around Shirley as she casually signed stuff for us. She was friendly and just amazing to watch.

After 15 minutes she told us she had to go, and we all stepped back at the same time, she then crossed the street by herself which was pretty cool considering we were all over her 30 seconds ago. Shirley then turned around when someone screamed "Can i have your pen" which she then chucked over. We watched her walk into a near by bar which we found out later was a private party.

The night ended with the person who caught the pen saying "Does anyone want to touch the pen for a quid?"
(circle, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 8:53, 1 reply)

Living in Alaska ...
... you get the chance to meet a lot of nice folks.

Gov. Sarah Palin Former U.S. vice-Presidential candidate you might have heard of.

Sen. Ted Stevens (You've probably heard about him as the "Series of Tubes guy," but he's a lot more than that.

Sen. Mark Begich, the guy who replaced Stevens in the U.S. Senate.
(FleetlordVT, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 8:30, 2 replies)

Johnny Vegas
Is from my home town.

I often see him blabbering shite to anyone who'll listen and laugh along with him.

He's lost weight though.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 7:50, Reply)

Did you guys know that Wendy James (from Transvision Vamp)
has a new band?

I'm a bit disappointed. I expected that she'd be an angry drunk screaming "I used to be FAMOUS! I used to be someone! God damn it, I used to be...I used to be pretty."
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 6:49, 3 replies)

I've got Jimi Hendrix's tooth.
There was a fight in a pub down Oxford Street, someone planked him, and I picked it up. I knew he was a genius even then.



Thank you and goodnight.
(Helixdaunting, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 6:11, 1 reply)

Just across the road as it happens...
I saw Robert Plant shopping at my local Lidl* in Bangor once. I didn't say anything, didn't want to embarrass the poor bastard. Saw him play the next night at Bangor Uni, so it was definitely him. He rocked, but can't pull out the waheey mumma no more.
Good times, bad times, seems he has his share.


*Uber cheap, scandanavian supermarket that sells peculiar wares for the non-Anglicised amongst us.
(spida, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 5:34, 2 replies)

I'm (not) your biggest Fan
Sean, the ex manager of my local drinking establishment had a bit of an obsession with the whole famous people thing, the place has had it's share of vaugely famous punters in it's time but this perticular story occurs about 2 years ago.

I wandered in early one Wednesday evening to find Sean sat with 2 women, an ugly tall skinny one and a quite attractive shorter girl. Waving me over he introduces me to "Erin" and "Sophie*".
Grabbing a drink I sit down and beginng chatting to all three, the conversation goes the usual way of strangers meeting; "good day?", "what do you do?", etc.
Having chatted for a few minutes with Sophie I proceed to begin talking to Erin the tall one, asking what she did I was quite suprised by her rather snooty reply of "Don't you know?"
Glancing down at my half finished Double Vodka & Cranberry I think "did she say? Fucking hell I should remember that I've barely started"
"No, did you say already?"
"I'm Erin, Erin O'Connor"
Ahh good thinks I, I did remember the name right. (Always one of my failings when meeting new people) however, this didn't explain her confusion about the job question.
"I'm the new M&S model"
"Oh, are you? How's that working out so far?" Is apparantly not the correct response I found out when she hissed "Fine" and turned away from me.
I ended up having a nice evening chatting to her 'normal' friend whle she sauntered around looking for attention.

*Name changed to protect the innocent cute friend.
(bill, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 2:00, Reply)

TRIPLE SHIT
I didn't have sex with this celebrity, though I would've liked to have had a pop at her innards with the hot pestrami. But, alas, it just wasn't meant to be. She was probably the most famous woman in the world. Surrounded by secret service agents, mixing in different circles than my own - somehow I didn't expect to see her in the mosh pit at Rock World - she was a rare jewel and I was a walking, talking, masturbating turd.

Oh, and she was dead.

It was the fucking boiling hot summer of '97. I'd just finished Uni and was bumming round my parents place in Harpole, Northamptonshire. A fucking boring place. Notable only for its close proximity to the swanky stately home, Althorp House, home of the uber-toff family, the Spencers.

And this incredibly fit woman used to be a Spencer. And then she died fucking an Arab in France. (I don't think that actually killed her, it was more likely the car crash and the French love of alcohol coupled with kind of driving that makes Need for Speed look like a Department of Transport safety video).

When she popped her clogs people, strangers started turning up, asking for directions to the Spencers gaff. There were even Americans. Fucking AMERICANS!!! In fucking HARPOLE!!! It was all a bit weird.

If someone stopped and asked me the way I'd point them in the general direction and they'd fuck off. I had my own problems. At the time I was pining for the love of my life, a girl from Yorkshire who was, in retrospect, pig ugly, but she let me take her up the shitter regularly and gave head like nothing on the planet Earth.

I was completely lovesick.

On a particularly hot and balmy early September evening I was sat in the churchyard in Harpole. No other fucker was about. It was a quiet contemplative place, a place I could unwind and relax. And the recent addition of MILLIONS of photo's of the famous dead woman and flowers and cards of condolence only added to the atmos.

So I sat on a large slab of tombstone and used my new-fangled brick of a mobile phone to send dirty messages up the M1 to my girl in Yorkshire. And she'd send incredibly dirty, sawdid, and downright disturbing text messages back down to me.

This went on for a few minutes. I took a drag on my joint, feeling slightly high and increasingly more randy. I looked round. No fucker in sight. This is Harpole, I thought to myself. The village of the living dead - no fucker out and about at dusk.

So I knelt down and started to stroke my cock through my shorts, sending and receivng pure filth via text. I told my girl I was wanking. She said she was too. Fuck me! She said she wished I was there with her to suck her clit and shove my thumb up her arse. Fuck me even harder! Then, after a breif pause, she sent a text telling me she'd just had her mobile burried up her growler. FUUUUCCCCKKKK MMMEEEEE!!!

By this time I could feel I was about to spurt. I disposed of the joint, hitched down my shorts and felt the gentle kiss of the summers' breeze on my meat and two veg.

"Ahh, there's someone - he looks local..."

And I started to wank furiously, staring intently at the small LCD screen on my phone for the next dirty text message from my Yorkshire slapper.

"He's got his back to us, dear. He hasn't heard us...go ask directions, Hon..."

Eventually it came and so did I, sending a beautiful stream of ropey jizz in an arch, splattering down on some random flowers and besmirching a photo of a certain dead famous Princess.

"OH DEAR MOTHER OF GOD !!!"

I jumped upright, this American couple who'd sneaked up behind me jumped too.

And then they ran-waddled back the way they'd come.

I put my swaying, dripping cock away. As they legging it, puffing and wheezing, back to their hire car.

Shit...

Then I reassessed the situation and realised I'd been caught with my cock out masturbating over flowers, photos and cards of condolence for Lady Dianna a few days after she died, in a churchyard, a couple of miles away from where she grew up.

Double shit...

Come to think of it -

Triple shit...

Made me look a little bit, well, odd...

...I mean, we all loved the women, apparently, but that was taking it a little too far...





Oh, and I did once shag Ryan Giggs' girlfriend when I was at Uni in Manchester. Woo me !!!
( SpankyHanky, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 1:04, 8 replies)

Slytherin Pride
First of all, the fact that I'm posting any of this here is solid proof that I'm in a very strange headspace today, and will probably deeply regret it tomorrow. Oh well.

I have no interest in celebrities whatsoever. Or reality. I really mean that. I can't think of a single media luminary that would cause me to turn rabid-fangirl, should I see them in the street. Except for Stephen Fry, and that's only because I'd be forced to jump on him until he did his impression of a gay German for me ('Oh, wo ist mein handy? Ich habe mein handy verloren') ... but I digress.

I'm a strange creature, and the subjects of my hero worship are all fictional characters. Yep. I'm not going to list them, but every single one is an irascible, acerbic, not-conventially attractive, misanthropic wanker. I'm really not sure what's wrong with me.

Consequently, and as one such example, I am a Draco Malfoy enthusiast. That's putting it mildly, to be honest. It's lucky for him that he's fictional. (And yes, I realise that makes little to no sense). I'm not even going to start in on the fanfic thing, really; it'll only make things worse.

Devotion is one thing. Unconsciously turning into object of said devotion... disturbing. Caught myself in the mirror yesterday - pretty short, bleached-blond hair; black clothes; green and silver scarf. Erm. I really don't know how that happened. Still went out anyway, fuck it.

On a side note, I highly recommend a Slytherin scarf. Keeps you warm and puts the fear of god up most small children within a ten-foot radius. You can then make eye contact, smirk and wish you'd brought a bit of wood to point at them.

... for the same result with middle-aged shoppers, try a cheerful rendition of 'Springtime for Hitler', as I found out last week in the soup aisle at Marks & Spencers. To my delight.

I shouldn't be allowed near people, should I?

(n.b. If you know nothing about the whole Potter thing, and therefore feel 'wtf' about all of that, then rest easy... you are a much, much cooler person than me).
(Samara Morgan is a small blue thing, like a marble or an eye, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 0:54, 11 replies)

Frank Carter
of The Gallows

not so into them these days but when their album first came out I fell in deep deep man-love with the scary ginger man.

anyway, the day before a gig he was playing in Cambridge I saw him in the bowling alley across the road from my college during my lunch break. I had about 2 minutes to get back - if I was late to this lesson I risked going on "referral" (basically getting bollocked by my head of subject). He was about to take his shot, but was taking flipping ages about it. Anyway, here I am, with about 30 seconds to get back to my class, going up and actually tapping him on the shoulder and asking for his autograph.

He looked thoroughly pissed off (I nearly shat myself, he's the scariest looking man I've ever met) at being interrupted but did sign my textbook, which made the bollocking I got somewhat worth it :)

It turns out I was 5 minutes too late to catch Lethal Bizzle (who was supporting them) bowling too - he was apparently much friendlier.
(JosefK, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 0:51, 1 reply)

Jeff Mills
Jeff Mills, in case you don't know who he is, is one of the founding fathers of techno music. From detroit waaaay back in the 80s, him and a bunch of other guys came up with basically what spawned all dance music that we have today. I'm sure there's some other roots behind where they got their ideas from, however, you can be absolutely certain that Jeff Mills is one of the leading pioneers and techno DJs.

Anyway, this particular occassion is the second time I managed to meet Mr Mills. The first was in Glasgow at the Arches, when I was doing a uni project that I somehow managed to twist into involving techno, so I contacted the club and said I wanted to speak to him. They let me, and despite the fact it was never going to yield any fruits (thanks to my eyes rolling about the back of my head), I did shake his hand and notice that he has exceptionally long, creepy, alien fingers.

Amazing.

Anyway, 2nd time round was at the Glade festival last summer. With my good friend Julia, we decided (well, she did) to break in backstage and wait for him after his set. So we did.

He eventually came out and there we were, rushing up to him, professing our love with favourable quips such as, "Jeff, you're the best, we love you" etc etc, going as over the top as we could. He took it all pretty well - I'm sure it was nothing he hadn't seen before. Anyway, we got a photo and off we went with big smiles.

Next stop with Mr Mills the Spacewagon was in London a few months later.

This time we'd printed off the photo we'd got at Glade and wrote a rather creepy poem on the back. It went something along the lines of,

"Jeff, your beats are crystal clear,
rest assured we're always near,
so near,
so near,
oh dear.
We love you forever and ever."

We then framed the photo, replete with poem and got ready for the big night.

Absolutely spannered, and in peak time in a club with about 2000 people being blasted in the main room by big subby, dischordant beats, Julia decides the moment has arrived to present Jeff with his trophy, so she blags her way past security and proceed to go an all fours across the stage, clawing at his legs to get his attention.

The wonderment of security staff alone was a sight to behold, let alone Julia swiping wildly at Mr Mills as he's battering out techno across 4 decks and a million other pieces of spaceship tech.

Eventually, the retrieve Julia who returns, mission definitely not-accomplished.

Anyway, the gig comes to an end and we hang about. Security are by this point definitely not keen on us talking to him, and tell us he's not coming to speak to anyone after. So we convince the guy to at least give him the picture and finally off he trots to do his duty.

Jeff gets the picture, looks at it, smiles then looks at us and waves. Woo! Result!!

Then he comes down off the stage to come say hello! Woo! Result again!

Cue another photo, a bit of chat into which (I'm particularly proud of this) I managed to look him in the eye and tell him, "Jeff, apart from my mum, you're the most awesome person in the world."

"Oh right, thanks" he said. I like to think he was properly worried at this.

Anyway, that was that and the lengths we went to show our devotion.

The next occassion Jeff was in town was to showcase some old soundtrack he did ages back, only this time he'd made some crappy visuals on windows movie maker or something. It was pretty banal, and the interview in which he tried to make it all sound academic was also pretty contrived, although it was highly amusing watching the rather inexperienced interviewer try and boost the whole thing into the realm of intelligent academia and Jeff try to pad out his answers as much as possible.

For example, one of the tunes was made with the idea in mind of having the grooves on the vinyl accurately represent the real distance between the rings of Saturn (the title of the "art" showcase). Too much acid, methinks.

Anyway, all this and some equally serious questions from the audience and the interviewer finally got a microphone handed to me to ask my question.

I stood up, and bared my t-shirt (onto which was printed the photo of us from our last meeting along with multiple images of jeff's head and in big letters on the back "We you Jeff!"), and I said, "Thanks for coming and the show was really interesting.. your visuals had a lot of bite, and the sound really gave our ears something to chew on. My question is, what is your favourite toothpaste?"

Again, I am particularly proud that Jeff sat in his suit and tie in front of this audience and literally took several takes before stammering out, "Crest..?".

Again, satisfaction. We even got our t-shirts signed afterwards. What a champ... I do love Jeff, so I do....

And he's coming back on May 15th. Any suggestions for how to take it to the next level anyone?
(ComradePotato, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 23:48, 2 replies)

I'm a massive Everton fan
But moved to Australia a couple of years ago. In one of the pre seasons, I was in a local bar when somebody told me that Tim Cahill was sitting over in the corner. I took the opportunity to meet one of my heroes, walked over and introduced myself. This was about a year after he'd scored for Australia in the world cup, and therefore, he is an Aussie sporting icon. Anyways, he must have been getting all these fans come up all night, because as I leaned in to tell him how good a job he's been doing at Everton, all of his mates were taking the piss, laughing at him and muttering stuff like, 'We love you Tim'. I told him I was a scouser (he'd already guessed by the accent, smart lad), and a former season ticket holder and that he was a legend. As I walked away, I heard him stand up for me by telling his mates to shut up because, "he's an Everton fan".
After this I was on top of the world. I got nicely hammered and started to dance. In my drunken state, one of my friends told me they saw Tim go into a nearby toilet. Not thinking, I rushed straight in, and there he was, taking a piss. It was then that I realised I was staring at a Preimer League player, pissing in a trough, and I didn't need to go. He looked at me, I panicked, and just washed my hands for about 2 minutes until he must have decided I wasn't leaving and headed for the sink. I told him to get his foot better (he had a broken metatarsal at the time) so he could rekindle a fine midfield partnership with Mikel Arteta and we could win the Uefa Cup. He said he'd try and we left the toilet. I'm still getting a lot of shit of the lads for being a massive stalker and following Tim Cahill into a toilet, just to get some one on one time.

p.s. I had been to a formal 21st party a few hours before, but because I wore a shirt and tie every day to work, I'd decided to dress in a tweed suit, with a cravat. He must have thought I was a mental, dressed like a grandad in a trendy bar full of jeans and t shirts.
(Visionaryofthe1980s www.myspace.com/visionariesofthe1980s, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 23:46, Reply)

Sinead Quinn of Fame Academy, erm, fame
Long time listener, first time caller.

For a little bit of background, I live just outside a one-horse town. It's lovely in it's own way, but it's a little quiet.

Anyway, the town with one horse, or Irvinestown as it shall be known, was home to flash in the pan songstress Sinead Quinn. Pleasant woman in truth, but when she got onto Fame Academy, it all went batshit crazy, in small town terms.

Merchandise was sold in damn near each and every shop. Flags and banners were made and liberally plastered across streets. A 16-page pull-out was featured the local newspaper. It was like the 3rd coming of Christ. Every sign that marked the town was changed to 'Sineadstown'. Anyone travelling to Irvinestown was truly baffled. If anybody, correctly, called the town by it's proper name, they were scoffed at and shunned like a leper with bells on.

Of course, like the hardened 12-year old cynic that I was in 2002, i didn't bow to this name changing jiggery-pokery. Nor did I buy a commemorative tshirt. I did however go to her 'homecoming'. Under the pretence that i'd get in a ladys' pants. That i did, but a few years later.

Anyway, long story short, she came second and came home only to be viewed as an abject failure in the eyes of many. She fell from the view of the public quicker than SARS.

Consequently, she became an alcoholic. And married one of The Feeling.
(Actually, because of this, i've had nights out with many of The Feeling, and Sophie Ellis Bextor. They're extremely good company, would you believe.)
(KneelDiamond, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 23:30, Reply)

Steve Ovett
Commonwealth games, 1986, student in Edinburgh. Enthusiastically leaving Debenhams on Princes Street via a revolving door, bumped into Steve Ovett and stood on his foot heavily enough for him to hop around for a bit.

Can't remember if this was before or after he won the Gold...
(Mucky has squinted at the screen with one eye shut since, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 23:14, Reply)

Actually, my best shag...
...was with the cutest little lady you could imagine, who is pretty well known in Britain at least.

We got chatting to each other in a pub in Birmingham and it turns out we were both fans of Garrison Keillor. I didn't really recognise her as being famous at first (which I guess disqualifies me from the "biggest fan" portion of the question). Having said that, as the night wore on and as her alcohol consumption increased, I could sense a definite spark. She gave me her number and we text and chatted for about a month. The next time I was in Brum she text me and asked if I fancied coming round for a coffee.

I go round her house in a rather fancy suburb and to my slight surprise, one of her kids opens the door. I had no idea she had kids but she kinda rose to fame in the late 70s so I guess she was at the age where she could have had a couple of kids around 10 or 12. Anyway, we sit in her kitchen and while I can't remember why or how it happened, we started talking about sex. She started playing with her mug and looking at me in a way that said "yes, it's going to happen". She gave each of the kids £10 and told them to go to the shops.

Before the door had even clicked shut she'd run me upstairs, half kissing and fondling me in a mad dash to the bedroom. She slides on top of me and the kissing is passionate. She slides off and says "sit tight". So there I am, lying in a kind of famous person's bed, looking up at her ceiling and publicity shots in chintzy frames dotted around this bedroom and I hear the bathroom door open.

Holy Christing Fucknuckles.

She's wearing school uniform.

She went to town on me like only an older woman could, making me pull muslces I didn't know I had. For 2 hours we basically just tore at each other, discarding her school uniform all over the place. After hearing the kids at the end of the road, we hastily got dressed and ran back downstairs. We may well have looked incredibly guilty (I know I felt a bit bad), but the kids were loaded up on sugary treats, and the rest of the afternoon went by as if nothing happened.

I left there wondering if I was some celebrity squeeze and giggling to myself. Unfortunately, she reconciled with her ex husband about a month after, but thanked me for that one afternoon.

To this day, I still think of her stood before me in that school uniform. If you're reading this, you were the best shag I have ever had, Jimmy Cranky.
(Tiny Blindfolded Horse Kitten sound car horns would end road rage, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 22:39, 4 replies)

Meeting Rick Witter
I had some friends down from Aberdeen and we'd been to El Piano for tapas.

Conversation, as it tends to do, turned to Rick Witter and that he's been stalking me for a while. We bumped into my mate Pete (who can be a bit of a bullsh1tter) outside 1331. He tried tempting us in. One of us said 'we'll only go in if Rick Witter's there!'.

Pete told us he was.

I doubted his Witter statement and we climbed the stairs to the bar area. No sign of Witter. I knew it!

Pete approached with the Witterman in tow. "Rick, this is PD. PD, Rick." The others were introduced to the rhyming slang man.

He is short, swarthy and rangy. We shook hands. He was there to DJ.

'Do you want me to play you a song? You name it, I'll play it.' The Witter's words resounded through my cochleas. I was all ears.

'Beastie Boys' I managed to say. He hadn't heard me so Lesley repeated it. 'Rick' (if that really is his name, I thought to myself) headed back to his DJ console. I went to the bar, still reeling from the experience. Guinness was ordered and Sabotage snaked its way out of the speakers.

'Snakes!!' I thought to myself.

We stayed for a couple of drinks, all the time I was sneaking snaky looks at the Witter in the corner.

After a while we left. Plans were laid and my friends and I had a dance off to House of Pain in Kennedys.

My night ended when I used the lyrics to Jump Around to justify my vegetarianism.

I am 29 years old.
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 22:23, 2 replies)

Not a celebrity but still a hero
About 7 months ago I was fortunate enough to encounter someone who has pretty much turned my life around, and to this day has been the single biggest influence in my life to date. In January, we were to meet face to face for the first time.

Owing to meeting at a busy time of the evening, I was instructed to wait in a small alleyway where there would be parking available. I am neurotic about being late, so much so that on this occasion I was 15 minutes early. This individual phoned me up to say they would be 10 minutes late due to an accident on the motorway. So, 25 minutes to wait for someone who in my mind, was my hero. What to do? I pace the alleyway in the pouring rain, trying my best to drown the butterflies in my stomach.

I decide to think of something to say when I got in the car. For 25 minutes I went through every snappy one liner I could think of. This was a momentous occasion, and I wanted my first words to be clever.

"Hi there! I'm soaked and you're beautiful!" ...no.

"If I had a pound for every lady I met in an alley!"...too crass.

"Quick! We must hurry! They have seized my spaceship and I think they know who and where I am! If you hear a weird noise I'm just charging my discombobulator!"...bit too surreal.

Anyway, sure enough I see a pair of headlights swing round the corner and I dive in the car, breathing quickly and rather a flutter, both from the cold and finally reaching that point of meeting. I look across to the driver's seat and there she is. If I tried to describe to you just how impossibly beautiful she was, I would actually destroy the internet and I don't want to stop other b3tans from posting more entertaining stories than mine. But trust me, I was convinced she had wings and a halo. I immediately go shy and look out at the driving rain.

"Hi!" She says.

"Hi!" I says.

"...if I wasn't so damn ugly, I'd have made a killing as a prostitute on that street corner! Hahahaha!"

This is why I shouldn't be allowed near normal folk.
(Tiny Blindfolded Horse Kitten sound car horns would end road rage, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 22:13, Reply)

While we wait for Spanky's story of having sex with a celebrity
by accident of course...You know when you decide that the best way to get into someone you like's pants is to shag their mate?

That was the course of action I decided upon to get Graham Coxon to notice me...I shagged Alex the bassist instead.

Didn't work as he wasn't even there - London Astoria '95 NME Brat awards. Boy did I end up with egg on my face.
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 22:12, 6 replies)

Silver Sun
Love the band to bits. Bought the guitar from their "Immediate" video on Ebay for £50.

Crap, cheapo guitar, but it hangs on the wall in pride of place. And in between the strings is the plectrum used by James Broad from one of their gigs.

Sad, I know.
( The Lone Groover has mal des nuts., Fri 17 Apr 2009, 22:03, 2 replies)

Im waiting for Spankyhanky .........
......to relate a lovely tale of accidentally having sex with someone famous ;)

My meagre contribution.
For some reason the smallish town I live in attracts a lot of famous people, many more in summer, must be something to do with the very famous music festival they have every june ;)
Musicians, soap actors up to Hollywood A listers
So many times Ive passed someone on the street, done that I sort of i recognise you but forget where from half smile at them, then only later realised its cos Ive seen them on the screen.
They must be used to that though.
Gave directions to Catherine Zeta Jones, the guy I was with didnt recognise her and nearly fainted afterwards when I told him.
Had a conversation about knickers with an actor from Emmerdale ( dont ask)
Lots more, but too boring to relate.
Ive never gushed or asked or autographs etc, TBH they are just people.
But once and only once did i lose it.
Rushing to the bank just before closing I collided with a couple,nearly knocked him right over into the road.
Aplogised, he said something like, thats ok no problem.
Then I see lots of people pointing and gaping.
Only then do I really look at them.
Its David Bowie and Iman.
By this time they have passed by, I walk mesmerised into the bank and then totally mong out, forget what Im called and how to write my signature.
Apparently I was as white as a sheet.
I nearly knocked over David Bowie FFS!

I did once go to see an actor after a play in London.
I had absolutely the biggest crush ever.
All day I'd been thinking of what to say, how to say it.
I was going to be polite, charming and witty
Went to get his autograph and couldnt say a word, turned to incoherant mush.
I still cringe

Have always wanted to meet Christopher Lee, but some folks who have said it wasnt the best experience, so i'll leave that one to fantasy
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 21:47, Reply)

Glenn Tilbrook
I rearranged two business trips to coincide with his shows--one in New York and one outside Devner--and flew back early from a third trip to drive another two hours to catch him.

Pathetic behavior for a middle-aged man to chase an aging rock musician from coast to coast, but he does put on a good show and is a nice fellow as well. (Of course, spending as much time as I do lurking on b3ta is even more pathetic.)

What's that, you say? Glenn who? Erm, you know...the fellow from Squeeze. What's that? Who's Squeeze?

Oh, nevermind...sheesh, I really AM getting old...
(grundig Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 21:31, 1 reply)

Have it
Just after stage-diving underwent a blanket ban in the UK; Fought my way on-stage through some big security guys (not easy - was maybe 20 / 21 at the time and built like the edge of a fiver) to be grabbed by the hand and hauled on stage by JS Clayden, who then holds up my hand like a boxer, while he lambasts security.

iirc they then launched into "Genius" (or something of equal weight) and ushered me off-stage via the normal means (dive into crowd and remain on top of seething mass for around a minute)

It was mint
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 21:27, 1 reply)

I'm not him but I'll sign it
I was in a pub/club in town many a moon ago with a bunch of mates. Being regulars we didn't need to queue or even ask for drinks, the staff were like friends and they'd pour/open whatever we each had, no need to ask, just a nod of the head. Great times.

One night, some guy, drunker than we were, was nudging mates and pointing at me. We didn't take much notice but he kept doing it. We gave him a couple of stares and left him to it.

A bit later one of his mates comes over, and says "sorry about him but he thinks you're (insert player's name) from West Brom. He's his hero. We've told him you're not but he won't have it. He's seen you getting drinks without asking or queueing, and reckons only celebs or sports starts get this treatment. He's doing our head in. Can you sign something and he'll leave you alone?"

We grabbed a pen from behind the bar, ripped the printed cover off a beer mat and I went over and spoke to this halfwit. I asked his name and wrote something on this manky beermat about "nice to meet you, best wishes, (scrawled footballer's name)". He shook my hand, offered me drinks, and skipped away as happy as I've ever seen a man.

I had no idea who the player was but this drunken numpty's night had been made.

Sad but true.
(randomstupidname would really like this signature field to be bigge, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 20:59, Reply)

I am my own god
I don't believe in "celebs"
I am my own hero
I like cake
( SkUG >_O i got a couple of stitches in my eyeball... ow, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 20:54, Reply)

I often...
...see Bill Bailey doing his shopping in Tescos.

It looks wrong.
(inflateable, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 20:50, 3 replies)